First Impressions
by rippingbutterflywings
Summary: When Jace finds Clary, alone in a hotel room and not wanting to speak, he's determined to find out what happened to her. With the help of Izzy and Simon, he's going to help her get back home safe. One-shot. All human.


**So, hi! I know it's been awhile since I update anything, but, um…yeah. I've been lazy! So, here you go. A one-shot. And, in a few minutes (or seconds, I don't know) the second chapter of Shocking Is A Bitch Called Love will be up. :)  
>I wanna thank maxwaylandgrey for finally accepting John Green's awesomeness, for letting me marry him (even though she argued he's already married, and has a kid), and for having word wars with me. Check out her stories!<br>Also, thanks to Reni Readiris for reading the first few paragraphs of this. :) Also check her fanfics out.  
>Hope you like this. :D<br>_**

"Hey," someone says. "Are you okay?"

Clary doesn't want to wake up. She wants to stay sleeping, forever, until she doesn't remember a thing. _But it's impossible, _she tells herself once in a while, _to forget everything if you don't have something new to remember. _

The memories come once again—the way the man threw himself at her, the way he made her do things she'd never done before, the way the man hurt her.

Things she wasn't meant to live until she was ready.

Things she had lived anyway.

"Are you okay?" the voice repeats. She realizes it's a boy—a man, practically. About her age. She doesn't want to open her eyes, even though she feels bad for not reassuring the boy.

"Nod your head if you can hear me," he says, and then, "Please."

Clary nods her head a little.

"Why won't you speak to me? Move. Do something," he pleads. Clary wants to tell him why. She wants to explain that she can't move, because moving means living, and living means accepting that she has to move on. She doesn't want to. She can't just move on with her life—it's not fair.

But the boy is pleading, begging her to move. She doesn't want him to worry too much. She doesn't know him, yet he's still here. Trying to get her to move.

She waves her hand and opens her eyes. There's no light. It's nighttime. She's still in the hotel room. "I can't move," she says, her voice hoarse. "I won't."

"You did," he says, slightly amused. "But why won't you move?"

"Because," she says, "I can't."

"You _can._"

She decides that the guy is too stubborn to really _listen. _But then it occurs to her that he doesn't know why she won't move, not really.

"I can't," she says, tears falling from her eyes. "It's too much."

"Does it hurt?"

She shakes her head.

"Then _what's _too much?" He sounds desperate.

"Everything," she says.

"Do you have a house?" he says. He's probably wondering what a girl like Clary would be doing in a hotel, in a bed, alone. In the hotel room he rented, he tells her.

"You rented this room?" Clary asks. "But how? I'm here."

"Are you paying for it?" the guy asks.

"I—no," she says. "Someone else is supposed to be."

"Who?"

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Did someone do something to you?" he asks. She doesn't reply. "Shit," the guy mutters. "No wonder why you wouldn't—never mind. I'm Jace. I'm not gonna hurt you."

She doesn't trust him. Why should she? Sebastian told her the same thing not too long ago. "I don't believe you."

"I know," he says. "And you don't have to, but—shit, listen. My sister is coming over here, and if she finds us like this, she's gonna think I did this to you. And then she's gonna—"

"Jace Wayland," a female voice says from the door. "What did you do?"

###

After explaining to Jace's sister that he didn't do anything to Clary, the girl introduced herself. Her name is Isabelle. Clary told her that was a pretty name, and Isabelle thanked her.

"So," Isabelle says, "what happened to you?"

"Izzy," Jace says with a groan. "You know what—"

"Shut up, Jace."

"I don't wanna talk about it," Clary says.

"You have to, though," Isabelle tells her. "In order to get better, you have to tell me."

"But I can't!"

"Look," Isabelle says. "If it was Jace, then I'll kick his ass. If it was someone else, then you'll get over it."

"Nice to know you think so highly of me, Isabelle," Jace says, tone mocking.

"Shut _up_," Isabelle says, clearly annoyed. She turns to Clary. "Listen, I know it sucks—what he did to you, whoever "he" is…there are no words for it. But it can get better. Just…tell me."

"I don't think you get it," Clary says. "I can't tell you."

"Why?" Isabelle says.

"Because it will be remembering, and that's too much."

"I'm hurt," Jace says. "You tell _her, _but you don't tell _me_?"

"Jace!" Isabelle says. "Out!"

"But—"

"OUT!"

Without a word, Jace walks out of the room. Now, there are only Isabelle and Clary. Isabelle tells Clary that she needs to know, for her own good. Clary refuses to tell her.

Isabelle grabs her hand. "Clarissa. Please."

"My name is Clary," she says. She doesn't remember giving out a name, though she probably did. She doesn't care about anything anymore, really.

"Clary," Isabelle says. "I like it. Now, _please, _tell me."

Clary gnaws at her bottom lip and sighs. She wants to fight, to tell Isabelle once again that she won't say a thing, but it's gotten tiring, really. She needs to let it out—and she will, one way or another. She just needs it to be in a good way.

"There was this guy. His name was Sebastian. He was the one who brought me here. Um, he…he did things," she says, and a single tear escapes from her right eye. She wipes it away. She should've just said what he did, instead of saying _things, _but she couldn't. She can only say so much. "To me. And—and then he left. He told me to leave, too, but I didn't."

"Clary—"

"No," she says. "I wouldn't leave. I wanted to stay here, because my mother warned me, and I didn't listen. Do you know how bad it is? I always thought I'd know when something like this happened, but I didn't. Look at how it ended!"

She's yelling. Isabelle tries to calm her down, telling her it's okay, and that she understand, but she really doesn't. Clary is small, with fragile features, red hair, and green eyes. She's not the kind of girl that gets taken, not the kind of girl people mess around with. If anyone, that would be Isabelle. Jace once dated a girl whose brother—the pervert—tried to rape Isabelle, but she slapped him so hard he had a mark there for more than an hour. It's kind of what she's used to. But not Clary.

"Look," Isabelle tells her, a little too loudly. "I know—life's a bitch, and it sucks, and you'll never get over it and you feel like dying—I know. It's the kind of thing that happens to others, Clary. But you can't just put up some stupid, damn walls and expect to live in a shell, because that's not living. And you can't just not live, either."

"I know," Clary says, and she does. "But, the thing is, living is hard now, not how it used to be. It's not something I can like or even be okay with. It's something I hate, something I'm not supposed to hate, but I do. I hate it so much. I can't live anymore." She stars sobbing, and Isabelle, even though she doesn't know her, pulls her into a hug. They stay there until someone knocks on the door.

"Go away, Jace!" Isabelle screams, not letting go of Clary.

"Uh, it's okay," Clary says, then pulls away. "Let him in."

"You heard her," Jace says, and they can practically hear his smirk. "Let me in."

"You're not helping him with his ego problem," Isabelle says, but she opens the door anyway.

"So, Clary, here's the deal—"

"CLARISSA FRAY, I AM GOING TO MURDER YOU." Simon, Clary's best friend, suddenly appears in the doorway. He looks like he's gonna murder someone. Instead, he runs to Clary and pulls her into a tight, breathtaking hug. "I was going insane, Fray."

"I'm sorry, Lewis," Clary says, willing herself not to cry again. "I didn't know what to say. You warned me. I was the one who didn't listen."

"We all make mistakes," he tells her. "But don't ever do that—ever, okay?"

"How'd you know I was here?" Clary asks.

"Well," Jace says. "We kind of ran into each other, and he asked me if I'd seen you—he showed me a picture and everything—and I took him here."

"Thank you," Clary says, and she means it. She has her friend here—her best friend.

"What happened?" Simon asks her. "Are you okay? Where is he? If he left, I swear to God—"

"I—he—you know," Clary says, never meeting Simon's gaze. "I'm—I'm okay. He's gone, yeah, but Si, it doesn't matter. You're here. I missed you." She buries her face in his hair, and they stand there, and it's not awkward at all.

"As much as I love this romantic scenario, I think I'd like to sleep in my room now." Jace is watching them, amused.

Clary blushes. "Uh, yeah. Sure. Whatever. But, um, Si?"

"Yeah?"

"Does my mom know I'm here, or anywhere?"

"No," Simon says. "Not at all."

"Crap," she mutters. "I can't tell her. I can't deal with her, not now. Not ever."

"I know," Simon says. "Give me a second. Jace," he says, voice louder. "Can we talk outside?"

"I know I'm good looking, but hands off the face," Jace warns, but he follows Simon outside anyway.

"What is he gonna do?" Isabelle asks Clary.

"I don't know," she replies, biting her lip, and sits down on the floor to wait. Isabelle sits down beside her.

"What happened to you was horrible," Isabelle says. "But you need to go back home."

_Back home, _Clary thinks. _Sure. Whatever. Home isn't an option._

She doesn't say that.  
>She says nothing.<p>

Simon comes back and announces that he and Clary will be sleeping over with Isabelle and Jace. The girls' mouths hang open at the mention of them sleeping with other boys and other girls. Clary's a bit nervous—she hasn't slept with a guy since Sebastian, and that's not really helping her any.

"It'll be okay," Isabelle reassures her. "You'll be with me."

Clary has no choice but to believe her.

###

Jace can't sleep. Maybe it's the girl sleeping a few feet away; the gorgeous, red haired girl; or maybe it's the fact that some idiot _raped _her. Jace shakes his head. He can't believe someone would do that, much less to a girl who was younger than himself.

His phone beeps. _Maryse, _it says. Why is she calling at this time?

"Maryse," he says into the phone. "Why are you calling this late?"

"Jace," she says, "you can come home now—all of you. I—he—I kicked him out." She sighs.

"I'm sorry," Jace says, and he is, really. Robert was like his dad throughout his life—the one that cared for him, in a way.

"Just—just come. Please," she begs.

"Now?"

"Now," she repeats firmly.

Jace glances at the girl sleeping on the floor, and at his sister, then at Simon. "I'll see what I can do," he tells her, and then hangs up.

Isabelle's eyes are open when Jace glances at her. "Izzy," Jace says sharply, "you scared the hell out of me."

"Too bad you didn't shit your pants," Isabelle says, but she's not smiling or smirking. She's serious. "What'd she want?"

"She said we can go back. She kicked him out," Jace says.

Isabelle says nothing. She just nods and walks silently to the bathroom, head down. She tries not to make too much noise; Clary and Simon are sleeping there, after all.

"Jace," says a small voice beside him. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Jace tells the girl. Her red hair is even visible in the dark. He smiles. "Go to bed."

"I can't sleep," Clary says, then sits down next to him. "I keep remembering."

"Sometimes remembering is the best thing you can do," Jace tells her with a smile, but it's not one of his cocky smiles, or even one of his happy smiles. It's a sad smile. "How about you stay here"—he pats the empty space next to him—"and see if you can sleep?" It was a mistake, he realized a bit too late. Clary looks afraid when he looks up.

"I didn't mean it like that," he says quickly. "I promise. I—I won't hurt you. There are other people here. I would never, Clary." He's rambling, and he knows it, but it's not like it matters. He wants her—needs her—to trust him.

"I—I don't know." She bites her lip, unsure.

"You don't have to do anything," Jace says.

"I—okay," she says, because she's either too exhausted to say otherwise or because she finally trusts him. It's pretty hard to trust him, yet she does.

So he moves, and they end up in the bed, arms wrapped around each other. It's not romantic in any way, just reassuring.

What matters to them is that they're there for each other, no matter what.

###

Isabelle fell asleep in the bathroom. She figured out as much. When she woke up, the memories of the previous night—the revelation that her mom and her dad are _really _over—came crashing down to her, and when she looked at herself in the mirror, all she wanted to do was either cry again or scream.

But she didn't. She took a bath, yelled for her suitcase, and waited until Clary, the redhead, brought it to her. Then she changed, never meeting her own eyes in the mirror, and now she's standing there, unsure whether she should stay inside or run away.

"Isabelle," Jace says with a groan. "I'd like to take a shower sometime this century, please."

She stays quiet. Her voice will probably crack, anyway. It's better to stay quiet—it's kind of like saying _fuck off _in a nicer way—than to speak and let your weakness be shown.

"Izzy, I'm gonna break the door if I have to," Jace warns. Isabelle sighs. She decides she'll speak.

"I'm coming!" she calls out, thankful that her voice didn't break when she yelled.

"Hurry up," Jace says.

"Shut it," she says.

Someone—or more than one person—chuckles from the other side of the door. Isabelle applies her makeup carefully, as if that'll make it easier, as if time will slow down just because. But then there's also that cute, nerdy boy from yesterday, Clary's friend. She likes him. He's cute, kind of funny, and protective, but not overprotective.

She's her kind of guy.

People think of her as a whore a lot. They say she sleeps with every living, breathing guy, including her brothers—_sooo _not true. People think they know her. They think that she's the biggest slut, but she's not. She's not a virgin, yeah, but she doesn't just fuck random guys. No. They need to respect her, and they need to go out for awhile, and then, maybe, if they get lucky and they show her something promising, they do it. It's like every other relationship.

But she dresses differently. That's why they judge her—because she wears too-tight, revealing clothes. They also judge her because she's pretty, and more boys want (and get) her. _It's just so hard to find a boy who's everything he appears to be, _she thinks, and Simon happens to come into her life. She doesn't know him, but if he's friends with Clary, the sweet girl whose life just got turned upside down, then he must be nice. And not _nice _nice. Nice. As in, the kind of guy who won't fuck Isabelle and then leave her. More like the kind of guy who'd rather know her instead of fuck her.

She wants to find out. Because she's been hoping, for so long, that someone comes. She wants love—needs it—and now there's someone who might just be it.

_What makes you think he loves you? _she tells herself.

_One way to find out._

###

"You need to _leave?" _Simon almost yells at Jace. The only thing keeping him from it is the fact that she can't know how screwed up this is. Jace can't leave. Not that Simon enjoys his company, but someone certainly needs to stay with Clary while Simon works and goes to his house. And that someone can't be him, as much as he wants it to be. He hoped it could be Jace, but apparently not. Apparently, he's going back to his house, because his mom called or some crap. Simon doesn't want to be mad—he knows it's not fair—but he can't help it. It's _Jace. _He promised.

"Look, it isn't my fault that Maryse decided to kick Robert out so soon," Jace says. "I know it sucks. How about you guys stay here, and I'll pay for the room?"

"I can't, Jace." Simon runs a hand through his dark hair. "I have a job, and a band, and a life. I need all of that. You—you probably don't have a job, or a band. A life, maybe. But you need to—she needs you, Jace."

They glance at the redhead sitting in the bed. She's staring at her shoes, her converse, as if they hold the answer to something dear. Simon rolls his eyes, remembering how she'd written cheesy quotes all over them a year ago. They are still there. Simon smiles, thinking, _at least something hasn't changed._

The bathroom door bursts open, and Isabelle steps outside. Simon's mouth hangs open in shock. She's beautiful. She's wearing this tight corset, with this really, _really _short skirt, her long, black hair cascading all the way down to her waist.

Needless to say, Simon is speechless.

"So," Isabelle says, snapping him out of his daze. "What do we do now? We can't go home." Her tone is matter-of-factly.

"That's what I told him," Simon says, jerking his head toward Jace. "But he won't listen."

"Leave?" Clary says, voice trembling. "I—I have to leave?"

"We don't know yet," Simon says, and then his phone starts to ring. He holds up his finger and checks to see who the caller is.

_Jocelyn._

Crap,

he mutters to himself.

"Jace," Simon says, an idea suddenly coming to his mind. "Come here."

"What?"

"Pretend to be Sebastian." When Jace looks at him with a puzzled expression, he sighs. "Clary's ex. Just…do it. Tell her everything's okay. Tell her you love Clary."

The phone stops ringing.

"Who?"

"Her mom."

###

"Mrs. Fray," Jace says into the phone, rolling his eyes every give minutes.

"Who is this?" Jocelyn asks.

"Sebastian."

"Oh," Jocelyn says, and Jace feels her mood change to a stone-like personality right away. She must really hate this guy. "Is my daughter around?"

"She's taking a shower," Jace says.

"You're taking a shower with my daughter?"

"No. Obviously, I'm _outside _the shower."

"If you hurt her—"

"Relax," Jace says. "I'll do nothing to her—nothing she doesn't want, anyway." He winks, even though she can't see him. _I need to get in character, _he tells himself.

"You BASTARD," Jocelyn yells into the phone.

"Clary will call you soon. She's almost done with the shower. Listen, she's okay. I know I've acted like a jerk throughout the call, and maybe throughout the whole time we were dating, but she's okay."

He hangs up.

"How'd it go?" Simon pokes his head outside the room.

"It went well, I think." Jace shakes his head. "I can't be sure. We have to hurry. Did you explain to Clary what the plan is?"

"She's taking a shower," Simon says. "And, Jace? You might be a cocky bastard, but you found my best friend. Thanks."

"Whatever, Lewis."

"It matters to you, Wayland, and you know it."

Jace grins. "I don't give a shit about your life."

"But about hers?"

"I don't know her," Jace says quietly.

"But you'd like to," Simon says, and it isn't a question. Jace shrugs.

"How about we all go out," Simon says. "I get to know Isabelle, you get to know Clary, and we're all happy. And Clary—let's just say she'll need it."

Jace sighs and pretends to consider it. Truthfully, the idea of going out with Clary appeals to him more than he'd let Simon know. "Sure," he says. "Does she"—Jace jerks his head toward Clary, who just came out of the shower—"have a phone?"

After Simon gives Jace his phone number, they go back inside.

"What was that about?" Isabelle whispers, low enough so no one else can hear.

"We're going out on a double date. And I worked my magic," Jace says.

"Of course you did," Isabelle says, then does a double take and says, "We're going on a _what_?"

"You, Clary, Simon, and I—we're going on a date."

"How—but—what?"

"You'll thank me soon enough," he says.

She smiles. "I think I should thank you already. But I won't."

"Your words wound me," Jace says, placing a hand over his heart mockingly.

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever."

"So, do we drop Clary off now?"

"No," Jace says. "Let me talk to her first."

###

When Jace asked Clary to go out for a walk, she was pretty hesitant. She _did _fall asleep in his arms. It's not like the memory can be easily taken away from her brain. She has a feeling it won't ever leave. It may stick around longer than the _other _memories, the not-so-pleasant ones. The way he let her fall asleep there, in his arms, like a baby. How he didn't complain, not even a tiny bit, that she dug her fingernails into his skin whenever she thought she might have a nightmare. How he didn't mind—in fact, he smiled—when they woke up and saw she'd drooled over him.

_Drooled._

God.

"Clary," he says, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. "Look, ever since I met you, I've wanted to know you. And, yeah, I know it's only been a day and I'm being an idiot. I don't care. You're smart, gorgeous, and strong—I like you, and I don't even know you."

"Kind of how J.D Salinger describes girls in his book, 'The Catcher in the Rye,'" she says, smiling at me.

"I have no idea what that is," Jace says, and then they both smile at each other, and it's the most natural and amazing thing Clary has ever experienced with a boy. Smiling. Not the kind of smiles she and Simon shared, the kind that's just idiotic and stupid, or totally funny—no. This is different. This is her and Jace, the hottest guy she's met, and they're smiling at each other, and he's not trying to get in her pants, like the last guy she met. No, Jace is different. Simon told her so, before they went to bed last night, when she still doubted Jace and everyone.

She's closer to him. She never notices how close they are until their arms are around each other. And they're just standing there—she's hugging him because of his family, because she's thankful, because she cares, and he's hugging her because of her life, completely, and because he cares.

They care.

The funny thing about people is basically how they work. They feel sympathetic for someone they barely know, and they "hate" someone they barely know, too. It's how it works. First impressions? Crucial. Last impressions? The most important ones.

Clary and Jace don't know each other. But they have a first impression of each other in their heads, and that's the one that sticks until they get to know the person more and more, and that impression changes.

###

It's been six months since Jace found Clary in the room.

Clary wants to hate what happened so badly. And she does.

But, had it not happened, she wouldn't have met Jace.

The guy she loves.

The guy who loves her.

And Simon and Izzy wouldn't have met each other, either.

They're in love, too.

Sometimes, things lead up to another, and they might seem terrible. Maybe they are terrible. But also, sometimes, they might lead to something wonderful.

Just like first impressions.

_  
><strong>Review?<strong>


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